


The Fell Winter

by Uvatha_the_Horseman



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uvatha_the_Horseman/pseuds/Uvatha_the_Horseman
Summary: Flurry Oldbuck, a hobbit of the Shire and notorious trickster, witnesses the wolves cross the frozen Brandywine River.
Kudos: 6





	1. The Wolves of Fornost

The wolf cocked his head. Beyond the edge of the forest, a small human, little more than a child, scattered hay on the snow. Sheep gathered around it in a thick pack, never looking up from their meal, never suspecting the danger.

The wolf's stomach pinched, a pain that never left him in these hard times. The members of his pack weren't faring any better. The ribs of the weaker ones showed through fur. Everywhere in the pack, heads hung down and eyes were glassy. The cubs no longer played.

Never had it been this cold. Never had he gone this long without eating.

A lamb wondered away from the others. The wolf crouched low and crept to the edge of the forest, moving almost on his belly. Now. He exploded from the shelter of the underbrush and struck.


	2. Little House in the Shire

A fat snowflake fell, and then another. Flurry Oldbuck plants his axe on a stump and watched them, ignoring the cold that crept through his wool jacket.

The river, steel grey under the low overcast, swept small branches along in the current. Ice had formed along the riverbank, an eggshell-thin crust over the black water. He'd never seen ice reach that far from the bank before.

The cold crept into his bones, even though he wore a sheepskin coat with the fleece turned inward. This winter had been harsher than any he could remember. They'd put extra blankets on the beds and they were going through wood as fast as he could cut it. He shivered, then gathered up the logs he'd just split.

He headed back to the farmhouse. His farmhouse. The building was centuries old, with stone walls almost a foot thick. It had a bright red door, round with decorative ironwork. Lamplight shone through the windows, and smoke rose from a vent in the sod roof.

The house was surrounded by well-tended fields, the rows of barley and rye stubble dusted with snow. On each side, cultivated land gave way to a wall of reeds and cattails and in back, the forest reared up, menacing and untamed.

The wind picked up. He shivered. Every step on the frozen mud made his feet ache. He couldn't see through the wood he was carrying and put his foot through the ice on a puddle. Not pleasant. Marigold had been saying she could make him some shoes. He thought they were unnatural, but after what just happened, he might let her.

Flurry reached the house. "Marigold, let me in."

His wife held the door for him. Corkscrew curls hung around her cheeks, which were as round and rosy as apples. And because she was plumper than most women, she was especially pretty.

He unloaded the wood into the wood box beside the fireplace while Marigold put a kettle on the fire.

Lily, his small daughter, toddled toward the fire. He jumped up and pulled her back, and the logs he'd been holding scattered across the floor.

"Flurry, she knows to stop before she gets too close. She'll be fine," said Marigold.

The children were playing with a dog who could no longer be called a puppy, in that it was more than shoulder-high than any of them.

"What are the rules about letting a dog in the house? He should be outside with the others."

"But Da, it's cold out, and he's still a puppy," said Robin, the oldest.

"He's as good as full grown. He weighs more than you do." Flurry put another log in the wood box. A dead spider, huge and hairy, fell from the between the logs. He picked it up and set it beside the wood bin. You never know when you're going to need a dead spider.

Marigold lifted the kettle from the hearth. The copper vessel shook from boiling, and steam wafted from its spout. "Tea's almost ready. Get yourself a cup."

Flurry hadn't decided what to do with his dead spider, but almost certainly, it would involve the lads at the alehouse. He glanced at the floor beside the wood bin, but the spider was gone. Disappointed, he crossed the room to get a cup from the shelf.

He picked the cup that was closest. Beneath it, eight hairy legs filled almost the entire space, and a multitude of eyes regarded him without curiosity. There was a sound of crockery smashing, and his own scream echoed in his ears. Marigold bent over her work, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Flurry glared at his wife. "You do know that was my spider? I was saving it to prank the lads at the Perch."


	3. The Golden Perch

The next day dawned to cloudless skies, and the children begged to play outdoors.

"Da, I want to look at the ice on the river. It reaches further from the bank than I've never seen before," said Robin.

"You went down to the river by yourself? How many times have I told you not to?" Flurry realized he was shouting but he couldn't help it.

Robin shot back, "I'm fourteen years old. I'm not going to fall in and drown."

Which was exactly what Flurry feared would happen. Everyone knew that water could kill you, and the deep, cold, swift-running kind was especially dangerous. He would never allow the children to wade into the river, and any thoughts of swimming or boating on it were out of the question.

"You treat me like a baby. You won't even let me go down to look at the ice, which will probably be melted by tomorrow, and I'll never get to see it again." Robin turned his back and stormed off.

Flurry shuffled back to the house. Something struck the side of the house with a dull thump. Robin's ball. Flurry cringed with each blow, surprising loud through the stone walls, but he didn't tell Robin to stop. It wasn't worth fighting about.

"Marigold, I'm going up to Stock for a while, maybe have a pint at the Golden Perch."

"You never go to the alehouse in Rushy anymore. Why not?" asked Marigold.

"The Corona? People have been avoiding that place for weeks. They say it's cursed. No one will go within six feet of it."

"Off to Stock with you, then. Say hello to my sister if you see her," said Marigold.

Flurry strode up the causeway at a pace driven by anger. In town, there would be people to talk to, men with sons a little older than Robin, who would lend a sympathetic ear. That's what he needed right now.

The causeway entered the marshland that separating his lands from those of Largo Underfoot, his nearest neighbor. On either side of the elevated roadbed, rushes and cattails swayed on the mudflats, their stems brittle and sheathed in ice. The wind stirred, making a dead, whispery sound when the dried stalks rubbed together.

The road emerged from the marsh and went through Largo's farm, as isolated as his own. It passed through another stretch of swamp, then several farms together, and then entered the town of Stock, the largest settlement in the East Farthing.

In the center of town, the road forked. One half led to the Great East Road and the Brandywine Bridge, while the other entered the forest and disappeared. He took neither, as he'd already reached his destination. Hanging over a door across the street was a bright yellow tavern sign in the shape of a fish. The Golden Perch. Snow had accumulated on top of it and icicles hung from its belly.

Beside the door, a pony was tied up to a rail. It stomped its feet in the ankle-deep snow. One of his Took cousins was here from Buckland. It was a long trip, ten miles at least. Buckland had its own taverns, larger and fancier than the Perch, but none brewed better beer.

Bells jingled when Flurry pushed open the door, the sound familiar and inviting. The smell of pipe tobacco and wet wool hit him full in the face. The warmth of the room soaked into his bones and wisps of steam rose from his wool jacket. He loved this place.

Inside, the ceiling beams were low enough to touch and the bar was little more than a serving hatch. The tables were made of planks balanced on sawhorses, and none of the chairs matched.

"Flurry, come sit with us," said Largo, his nearest neighbor. The big man squeezed over to make room. He and a dozen other neighbors crowded around a table built for eight. The barmaid came by and counted heads, then went off to fetch the next round. With twelve tankards to fill, it would be a while before they saw her again.

Hamfast Chubb, an unfortunate name for one so lean, was deep in conversation with another neighbor about the merits of barley verses rye. A tankard sat in front of him, untouched. Flurry lifted the neglected clay mug and drained the whole half-pint, then returned it to the same spot with the handle turned the same way. When the rightful owner finally lifted it, it came up light in his hand.

"Flurry, did you …"

Flurry assumed his most innocent expression.

Hamfast looked around the table. "Did any of you see him do it?" he demanded.

"We didn't see a thing", said Largo, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The barmaid arrived with the next round and set a new tankard in front of Hamfast. "Flurry will pay for it," he told her. Flurry tossed an extra coin on the table.

When she left, Largo asked, "What brings you into the Perch?"

Flurry looked at his hands. "Robin wanted to look at the ice on the river and I told him no. Now he's mad at me. He thinks I keep him on too short a leash."

"Do you?" asked Largo.

"I only want to keep him safe."

"You might ease up some. Stop making him ask permission every time he leaves the house."

"I can do that. When he's thirty, and lives in another town," said Flurry.

Largo took a pull on his pipe. "You're trying too hard. I used to tell myself, if the boys are still alive at the end of the day, I've done my job."

Flurry looked away and waited for the roaring in his ears to subside.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I forgot." Largo clapped a hand over his mouth.

"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago," Flurry said.

At the far end of the table, Adalgrim Took, Flurry's second cousin on his mother's side and the owner of the pony, leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Did you hear about the wolves? Just the other night, Tom Smallburrow swore he heard one howling in the Old Forest."

"How would he even know what a wolf sounds like?" Wolves don't come south of Fornost. It was probably an owl."

The Battle of Fornost. hobbit archers had dispatched hordes of white wolves and turned the tide of battle. It was an exciting story, but it had little to do with Flurry or his neighbors.

"Well, he swears it was a wolf," said cousin Adalgrim. "And there's more. The next morning, Bob Smallbairn saw an enormous paw print in a pasture near the Old Forest, right next to the manger where they feed the sheep."

"What could have brought the wolves so far south?" asked another of the farmer.

"It's been a hard winter. I imagine they're starving," said Thierry Greenhill, the school teacher.

"My sheep are in a pasture right against the woods, with only a lean-to to keep the wind off them. I wish I had a proper barn."

"Or bigger dogs. And more of them."

Flurry's stomach tightened. He set his tankard down, untouched.

"A paw print will grow as the snow melts away from it. The size can be an illusion," said Thierry.

That seemed reasonable. Flurry relaxed. The men talked about bringing their sheep into the barn at night. That was foolish. Sheep didn't need to be indoors, as long as they had shelter from the wind. And he didn't really believe there were wolves out there.

Flurry pushed back his chair. "I'll be right back. Gotta go drown some ants."

On the way back from the privy, he noticed how the afternoon sun had melted the snow, revealing mud soft enough to take a print. He picked up a rock and pressed it into the mud to made a pad print, then added four toes.

He stood back to admire his work, then made several more. The prints were larger than those of a dog, even the great mastiffs kept by farmers like himself who lived in lonely places.

Later, when they all left the alehouse together, Hamfast noticed the prints and stopped in his tracks.

"Oh my … " He looked horrified, then he glared at his friend. "Flurry, is this your work?"

"Right, and on the very first guess," said Flurry, with a modest bow.


	4. Breakfast with Sheep

The walk home was colder and lonelier than the walk up. On the way, his neighbors peeled off one by one as they reached their own farms. After a few miles, the group was down to himself and Largo, until Largo turned down the lane that lead to his own house, saying, "Good evening. Say hello to the missus for me."

Flurry watched him go. He would have to pass through the frozen marsh alone to reach his own farm. There was no danger. Nothing ever happened in East Farthing, but he found himself jumping at every rustle of the underbrush.

It's a squirrel, that's all. One pound of squirrel makes ten pounds of noise.

In the warmth of the alehouse, with his friends and neighbors around him, Flurry laughed off the rumors of wolves. He still didn't believe the stories, but it might not hurt to bring the sheep into the barn tonight, just to be safe. There was no way they'd all fit. Maybe some of them should go in the house. Marigold would kill him.

The farmhouse was laid out like most others in the Marish, a single room with a sleeping loft at either end. The previous tenants, an elderly couple with no children, had replaced the ladder up to one of them with a dainty staircase. Flurry and Marigold had claimed that one for their own, and the children slept in the other.

Lying beside Marigold on their straw tick, Flurry was having trouble falling asleep. He didn't really think there were wolves out there, but he wasn't sure. At any rate, they'd be on the other side of the Brandywine river, and it's not as if they could use the ferry to get across. But what about the bridge? The Brandywine bridge, just north of Stock, was a wide stone structure whose many arches spanned the otherwise impassible river.

It would be hard to cram all of the sheep and goats in the barn. Hard, as in impossible. The two lambs would have to stay in the house, and the ewes with them.

He sat up. Beside him, Marigold lay fast asleep.

"Marigold, I'm going to bring some sheep into the house," he said.

"Ummfh."

"They might eat something they shouldn't, or make a mess. I just wanted to let you know." He could have shaken her awake, but figured that since he'd told her at all, that was good enough.

Before first light, Marigold went downstairs to light the fire and start breakfast.

There was a scream. She noticed the sheep. They were hard to miss, four of them in a one-room cottage. Plus, there was the aroma.

"Florence Oldbuck! Why didn't you tell me you were going to bring the sheep into the house?"

"I did tell you. You were asleep."

He came downstairs and gathered her in his arms. "My heart, my dear, my own true love, listen to me." He dropped his voice so the children wouldn't hear. "I'm worried about wolves. There are rumors. Let's none of us go outside after dark until this has blown over."

"And this lot? The woolly ones. Have you noticed they're not house-trained?" Marigold asked.

"I'll send them outside at first light."

"Remind me, why didn't I marry Hamfast Chubb instead of you?"

"Because you hadn't met him yet. And you told me he's boring, which I'm not."

"Boring sounds pretty good right now." Marigold spooned barley and oats into wooden bowls, which she set on the table, along with cold meat and cheese.

Lily was teasing the cat with a scrap of cloth tied to a string, twitching it along the floor. The cat's hind end rose in the air and its body stiffened, ready to pounce.

"Children, breakfast," called Marigold.

Robin came over and slumped down at the table.

"How did you sleep?" Flurry asked. The boy ignored him. At the same time, his small daughter was telling him a long and complicated story and baby Ceredric, known as Cricket, appeared to want what the cat was eating. Flurry stirred his porridge absently trying to think of what to say at the breakfast table when two of the people seated there were mad at him.

The woolly forehead of a lamb jostled his elbow, making him spill porridge on his shirt.

"Baaaaaaaa!"

"Baaaa yourself, you foolish beast," said Flurry.


	5. Rabbit Hunting

After shooing the livestock out of the house, Flurry went outside to release the sheep from the barn. Maybe he would leave them outside tonight. If anything came sniffing around the livestock that shouldn't, the dogs would bark and drive it away.

Robin was leaning against the side of the house, looking restless and bored. Flurry braced himself. He sensed they were about to have the same argument they'd had the day before.

Largo's advice came back to him. Ease up.

"Robin, if you'd like to go down and have a look at the river, go ahead."

Robin's mood went from surly to buoyant in an instant. He shot down the riverbank like an arrow loosed from the bow. Flurry stayed where he was as long as he could stand, then joined his son as the river's edge. So much for letting the boy explore on his own.

"Da, look at the bubbles." Robin pointed at the ice. Bubbles of air beneath the translucent crust seemed to flow upriver, against the current. Flurry watched, fascinated, as they snaked and writhed, split apart and then joined to form larger shapes.

There was a rustling in the dried-up reeds. Flurry jumped, then saw a coney bounding away. Not a wolf.

"Da, do you suppose we could go coney hunting?" asked Robin. Flurry agreed, pleased that Robin still wanted to do things with him.

Flurry opened a storage closet in the barn where he kept lures, snares, and bows for hunting.

Inside were a dozen bows in various stages of repair. His favorite was right in front. He searched for a suitable bow for Robin, who'd grown at least an inch since last summer. He found himself holding a child's bow, a toy for a little one of four or five. It was no use to anyone anymore, but he'd never been able to put it on the fire or give it away. Don't count your children until they've had the marsh fever. Flurry blinked hard, then put it back, safe and protected behind the larger bows.

"Did you find the bows?" Robin's slim frame appeared in the barn's doorway.

Flurry placed a lightweight bow in his son's hand and kept the larger one for himself. "We'll string them and make sure you can draw it easily."

With the dogs trotting at their heels, Flurry and Robin headed into the marsh. The ground was frozen, so the sucking mud had become as hard as a gravel road, and as easy to walk on.

Dry reeds whispered around them. The marsh was silent, the insect noises and the song of frogs a distant memory from summer.

"I miss the dragonflies, and there aren't any birds right now," said Robin.

"They'll come back as soon as things leaf out in spring."

Deep in the marsh, they saw a fallen tree that had raised a huge ball of roots in the air, leaving a crater beneath it. Not far from it was a deep pit where a potter or mason had dug for clay. Flurry had never been this far back in the marsh before, or seen through the reeds so easily.

A coney appeared between the reeds. Robin notched an arrow, drew it back, and struck his target from a great distance. Flurry thought it was luck, but on the next coney, he did it again.

"You're a natural, son. I never saw anyone who had that kind of aim."

All afternoon, the house smelled wonderful with the coneys simmering in the pot with some lovely carrots and onions.

"Where would we be without root vegetables? Winter would be so much harder without them," said Marigold. She found some thyme and sage she'd been saving for an occasion like this and added them to the pot.


	6. The Old Took

The next day, Flurry was scattering straw for the sheep when he heard a shout from the road. A group of ten or more of his neighbors were standing where the farm lane met the causeway. It was rare to see anyone else on the road.

"The Old Took called an Allthing," a meeting of the whole community where all things are discussed. "He requests that all able-bodied men to come to the market square in the center of Buckland. Are you coming?" asked Hamfast.

"I don't know. Will there be food?" said Flurry.

"What a foolish question. There's always food at an Allthing. People wouldn't come otherwise."

Something was happening and Flurry was curious to know what it was. Also, at the last Allthing, they'd served cider and little cakes. Flurry told Marigold where he was going, then hurried up the lane.

"Will you bring your boy along? He might enjoy being included with the men."

Robin was near the sheep's lean-to shelter, throwing sticks to his dog. Flurry hesitated. He felt sure Robin would enjoy coming with them, but reaching Buckland would require crossing the river by ferry. The thought of that swirling black water made his knees shaky.

"No, Robin doesn't need to worry himself with adult matters just yet," said Flurry.

Two miles later, they reached the footpath that led to the ferry. Ice coated the reeds and cattails along the bank, and the ground was frozen hard. Ice reached from the shore past the end of the dock, partially encasing the ferry. He'd never seen that happen before.

"Is the ferry trapped in the ice?" asked Flurry, half-hoping the trip was off.

"It's just a crust, as thin as eggshells. You won't even notice it's there," said Lothar Pott, who would act as the ferryman.

They climbed aboard the unstable raft. Lothar took the pole in his hands and shoved off from the bank. Flurry clutched the rail and watched as his knuckles turned white.

The black water swirled around them. After far too long, they pushed through the fragile ice of the opposite bank.

The ferry struck the mud with a jolt, knocking Flurry to his knees. Lothar tied the ferry to the dock, and Flurry jumped to the bank, relieved to set foot on land again.

It was a short walk from the ferry landing to the center of Buckland.

"What do you suppose the Old Took will say?" asked Flurry.

"My guess? That we should stop upsetting ourselves with these silly rumors. That we're whipping ourselves into a frenzy, and everybody needs to calm down," said Thierry.

Most of the dwellings in Buckland consisted of burrows that had been excavated into the hills. Behind them he could see the High Hay, the tall and impenetrable hedge grown to hold back the Old Forest. Most of the buildings had round doors and windows, with freshly painted trim. Even in winter, with the flower boxes empty, the town looked well-maintained and prosperous.

The home of the Old Took was larger than most, occupying one whole side of the market square. It was home to dozens of Tooks, their in-laws, and servants. Multiple chimneys on the hillside gave off curls of smoke, showing the extent of the tunneling. Each of the round windows were glazed and framed in carved wood, and all the paint was fresh.

The house was just as impressive on the inside. Flurry had been inside when he paid the yearly rent each fall. The floors were tile, and the trim around the doors and windows was the work of master craftsmen.

Platters of cakes and sugar cookies had been set out on a table with a white cloth. Some of the Old Took's grandchildren were pouring tea. They looked to be about the same age as Robin. Flurry recognized the freckled girl in the yellow bodice as his second cousin.

"Earning a little extra pocket money?" Flurry asked.

The young people exchanged a look. "No, we're slaves," they said, and doubled over laughing.

Flurry accepted a cup and filled his pockets with sweets for his family, as was the custom.

The largest of three round doors opened and Gerontius Took, twenty-sixth Thain of the Shire, stepped outside. His hair was snowy white and his face was dotted with liver spots. At one hundred and twenty-one years old, he was the oldest living person in the Shire, and the most respected.

"I suppose you wonder why I've called you here," he said, leaning on his cane. "I'll keep it quick, I know how cold it is today. Sometime during the night, at the edge of the Old Forest, a cow was killed and torn to pieces. It looked like the work of a wild animal. Several wild animals. They left nothing but bones and a few scraps of hide.

"Bree has sealed her gates." Bree was a walled town, and half the folks who lived there were creatures of exceptional size and strength.

"As we speak, squads of archers are patrolling the edge of the Old Forest, and carpenters are gating the entrance to Brandywine Bridge, so Stock and Rushy ought to be safe."

Stock and Rushie were safe. So was Flurry's farm, which lay between them. He realized his heart was pounding.

Young Tooks moved through the crowd, distributing bundles of arrows, and to those who needed them, heavier bows.

"For those of you who've never loosed an arrow, stay afterwards for lessons." That didn't apply to him. Flurry and his neighbors all hunted regularly. "Or if you haven't done this in a while and need a refresher, straw targets have been set up on the flat area in front of the Hall."

"One last thing." The Old Took raised an enormous horn high above his head. It was mounted with bands of silver and had the look of great age.

"This is the Horn of Buckland. It was last used in ancient times before the High Hay was build, when nameless creatures crept out of the Old Forest in the dead of night. The Horn was blown to summon people from their beds. It told them to grab their bows and axes and scythes, and join with their neighbors to defend their homes."

Flurry, who was born in Buckland, had shivered to those stories as a small child.

"Buckland used to be a dangerous place, and after many years of peace, it appears that danger has returned."

The Old Took blew a staccato pattern on the Horn that any child in Buckland would have recognized. AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!

"If you hear that, come running. Buckland's in trouble."

-o-o-o-o-

Flurry stepped off the ferry onto the muddy ground of the riverbank and felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. The Brandywine Bridge had been gated, and wolves couldn't operate a ferry. The danger was only in Buckland. This side of the river was safe.

Flurry helped his neighbors tie up the ferry and make it fast. The ice was thicker than before, and the mud had frozen since they'd crossed to Buckland. His feet left no prints.

"Flurry, is this your work?" His neighbor pointed to the frozen mud. Prints like those of a very large dog crossed the mud and vanished into the rushes.

A chill ran through his body. "I didn't do that."


	7. First Sight of the Enemy

Flurry followed Marigold to the barn when she went to milk the cow. Marigold pulled up the milking stool and reached up for the udder. Squirts of milk stuck the wooden pail.

He lowered his voice, even though the children couldn't hear them out here.

"At the Allthing, the Old Took said that something had killed a cow and torn it to pieces. He said all able-bodied men are to listen for the Horn and come running if the creature comes back."

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I didn't tell you earlier, but on the way back from Buckland, I saw enormous paw prints in the mud."

"Are you sure they weren't dog prints? Everyone in the Marish has large dogs."

"I don't think even Lothar Pott, who lives next to the ferry landing, keeps dogs are that big."

"Well, what do you want to do? Should we go up to Stock and stay with my sister? We could load up the wagon, put the children in the back and be there by supper time." She bit her lip.

"It's cold, and getting colder. Robin could handle it, but I don't want to take Cricket or Lily out in this weather," said Flurry.

"If we fill the wagon with straw and throw some blankets over them, they'll be fine. It will be dark in a few hours. We have to decide now."

Flurry shifted his weight from foot to foot. "We can't go. We have animals to feed."

-o-o-o-o-

That evening, when the light started to fail, Flurry went out to the sheep shelter and scattered straw on the ground. His feet ached from standing in the snow. Even in this cold, it wouldn't hurt them to be outside as long as their bellies were full and they were kept out of the wind.

The full moon had begun to rise, and in the silver light, something moved on the far side of the river. Flurry squinted and tried to make out whatever was hidden in the shadows.

An enormous creature stepped out onto the mud of the riverbank. Its fur glinted silvery white in the light of the almost-full moon. It raised its head, revealing a raggedy ear. It looked like an old wolf, experienced and battle-hardened, and was larger than any dog.

The beast paced back and forth along the bank as if looking for a place to cross. It stepped out onto the ice, which held under its enormous weight. It took another step and plunged knee-deep into the river water, then struggled back to shore and shook itself like a dog.

Another creature, smaller and darker in color, appeared on the bank. It took a tentative step onto the ice shelf, which groaned beneath its weight. It flinched, and retreated back to shore.


	8. Fear Fire Foes

Overnight, the temperature continued to drop and the ice reaching from either bank had joined in the middle.

At least six inches of snow had fallen, and the lane had disappeared under it. If he'd wanted to pile the children into the wagon and get out of here, he no longer could.

Snow covered the river. He looked for paw prints, but didn't see any. on the other hand, the snow was still falling and could have covered them.

Flurry released the catch on the shutters and peered through the crack between them. The moonlight showed the snow on the ice, a flat white layer without any blemish or tracks. It wasn't apparent there was a river under all that snow except for its extreme flatness. March grasses grew up the banks on both side.

"Flurry, come to bed. It's late, and it's cold out there."

Flurry banked the fire and climbed the narrow staircase to the sleeping loft.

"I should have brought the sheep in the barn."

"I'm sure they'll be fine. Didn't you say the dogs would give us fair warning if there was any trouble?" Marigold patted his arm.

He had said that. But it didn't hurt to be careful. When he finished the evening milking, he'd brought his bow in from the barn, as well as Robin's bow and a few spares. He'd also brought several changes of bowstring, all of his own arrows, and the bundle of arrows he'd been given when the Old Took had passed out at the Allthing. He laid them out on the kitchen table, a farmer's arsenal.

[something like, there was a bow over the door, a feature of every isolated farmhouse, but it was more of a decoration by now, being dry and cracked/ split with age.

He wondered if he was overreacting. He didn't think so.

Marigold had already gone up to bed, and the older children were sleeping in their loft.

-o-o-o-o-

Flurry sat bolt upright in bed, not sure what had wakened him. Then he heard it, the pure low notes of a horn. The Horn. He thought it came from across the river, from Buckland.

The great horn of Buckland blew a series of high-pitched staccato notes.

"AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!"

Buckland was under attack. He woke Marigold. The baby started to cry. Sleepy voices of children called from the other loft. He pulled on his clothes and bounded down the stairs.

All around him, hunting horns of the neighbors answered. The dogs started barking and didn't stop.

He grabbed his bow and stash of arrows. He grabbed the hunting horn from its peg on the wall, then shrugged into his sheepskin coat and grabbed his bow and his many arrows as he could hold that a time.

"Da, what's going on?" Robin asked.

"I have to go out," Flurry said.

Flurry stepped outside. The cold hit him like a pan-full of cold water to the face.

All around him, the horns of his neighbors were answering, some carrying over the water, nearer and louder ones from the nearby farms. He raised his own small hunting horn and blew two sharp notes, low high. MOVING OUT. It meant he'd heard the Horn of Buckland, and was coming to their aide.

He would make the trip to the ferry landing in record time, where he would join the others and make the crossing with them. At night. Flurry didn't relish the prospect at all.

Would they even be able to cross? The ferry might be trapped in ice. Would they have to walk across the ice? Flurry weighed almost six stone. The ice might not be able to hold his weight, any more than it had the wolves who tried to cross yesterday.

Beyond the sheep pasture, the river was an unmarred expanse of white, completely frozen and covered under inches of snow. Every detail stood out in the silver moonlight. The far bank lay hidden in shadow.

He thought he saw motion in the reeds, but it was hard to tell. No, there was a shadow where there shouldn't be one. Something moved down the bank on the far side of the river, and moonlight glinted from the silvery fur of its back.

The old wolf stepped out onto the ice. It was the same wolf he'd seen before, with the same enormous size and ragged ear. Flurry expected it to break through the surface and fall in, like it did the night before, but this time, the ice held under its enormous weight.

It walked with cautious steps toward the center of the river, putting a foot forward as if testing the ice before trusting it with its full weight. A second wolf followed in the tracks of the old wolf, and two more followed after that. More wolves waited on the bank, at least a dozen. It was hard to tell in the shadows.

The old wolf reached the near shore. Flurry lost sight of it until it crested the top of the bank and entered the edge of his field. The dogs started barking hysterically.

Flurry raised his horn and blew, "AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!"

Silence. He repeated the call for help. A neighbor's horn answered from a great distance.


	9. Robin's Dog

Flurry bolted the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. Robin hurried down the ladder, fully dressed. Lily was not far behind.

"Da, what's going on? What do you see out there?" Robin asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about. I'm just keeping an eye on things," said Flurry. If he told them the truth, they'd be terrified.

"What did you see out there?" asked Marigold.

"Nothing," he said loudly. As a child, he had no idea that lying to his parents would be completely dwarfed by lying to his children.

He leaned close to Marigold and whispered, "Wolves are streaming into the field beside the river." She gasped and clasped a hand to her mouth. "I don't want the children to know. It would frighten them, and they're safe as long as they stay in the house."

She nodded, her eyes wide and her hand still clasped to her mouth.

"I want to go check on my dog," said Robin.

"Well, you can't. Go back to bed."

"But my dog. I've never heard him bark like that before. They must be something wrong."

"Stay in the house," said Flurry.

Outside, the dogs were barking with a frenzied pitch.

Flurry went from window to window, testing each shutter and making sure the bolt had been slid into its iron staple. He'd never had to check the shutters before. He did the same with the front door. It was unbolted. He was sure he'd slid the bolt when he came in.

Flurry opened one of the shutters and looked through the crack. Wolves were swarming across the river and scrambling up the near bank. Smaller ones brought up the rear. They climbed the bank, and assembled with the rest of the pack. The trail in the snow over the ice looked wide and trampled.

The sheep. I didn't bring in all the sheep.

He'd squeezed as many sheep as would fit into the barn, but he'd hadn't brought the rest into the house this time. He wanted to, but he didn't really think it was necessary.

Something terrible was about to happen, and it would be his own fault.

"Flurry, where's Robin?" Marigold asked a few minutes later. She sounded anxious.

"I sent him back to bed," said Flurry.

"I just looked in on Lily. He's not in the loft."

The cottage wasn't so big that a person could go missing.

"Did he step outside?" He'd ordered the children not to leave the house for anything, not even the privy.

"Robin went out," said Lily.

"What you mean Robin went out. I told him not to." Flurry's voice got tight.

"He went to check on his dog. He said he'd be right back."

Flurry grabbed his coat from the peg and yanked open the door.

"Robin!" There is no answer.

Across the river, the Horn of Buckland repeated its call, far away but low tones that carried over the water. Behind and all around, the horns of his neighbors answered.

Where his land met the river, wolves entered the field and moved toward the sheep shelter. The dogs barked like mad creatures and strained against their chains.

Loud, unhappy animal noises came from inside the barn. He shook the barn door, and it opened easily. Dozens of sheep faces looked back at him, their eyes the height of his own. He'd managed to cram almost the whole flock into the barn, including the lambs and ewes. Only a few had to spend the night outside. He called Robin's name, hoping he'd taken shelter in the hayloft, but there was no answer.

A scream from the direction of the sheep shelter made his blood run cold. Robin!

He ran outside. The moonlight showed wolves swarming the windbreak and falling upon defenseless animals inside. Their screams sounded surprisingly human. One went down with wolves all over it, and the brutes tore it to pieces.


	10. Into the Marsh

Flurry raced toward the woodpile and pulled the axe from the stump. The pack tearing at something on the ground. He advanced on them in a murderous rage.

If only I'd told him about the wolves, Robin wouldn't have gone out.

Neighbors on the way to the ferry responded to his call for help, when he'd first seen the wolves. They were all armed with bows. The wolves didn't look up from their meal. The men shot them. The survivors fled into the marsh.

Four or five wolves lay dead on the ground. Torn between hope and fear, Flurry approached the shelter. Blood soaked the wool at the animal's throat. Her name was Bonnie and he'd been fond of her, but she was just a sheep.

Behind him, iron hinges squeaked as the barn door opened and shut.

"Da, I'm here," said Robin.

Flurry crushed him in a bear hug. "You're safe."

"Of course, I'm safe. After I put my dog in the barn, I saw the wolves streaming across the pasture. I didn't think it was safe to run for the house, so I climbed up into the hayloft instead."

"You didn't hear me calling?" said Flurry, as worry turned to annoyance.

"Over the racket the animals were making? No, I didn't."

A dozen of his neighbors were standing around in a group. The light from their lanterns and lanterns fell on their weapons and the straps of hunting horns across their chests. Circles of light pooled around their feet, but further away, the scene was dark.

Lothar Pott was saying, "By my count, seven or eight of them got away. Maybe they'll escape across the river, but maybe they're headed for Largo's place."

"My family is there." Largo looked worried. He raised his horn and blew two quick notes of warning. The quarry is on the move.

"Shall we kill them outright, or set snares?"

"Why not both? Catch them in a snare, then loose an arrow from the safety of a tree. Everyone here's a skilled archer, right?" All their heads nodded. "And everyone has a sturdy bow?" Flurry had left his in the house. He went to get it, and also rope for the snares.

"We'll need bait. Can we use what's left of the dead sheep?" Flurry nodded. Poor Bonnie.

His neighbors butchered the poor slain animal and distributed chunks of meat for bait.

Lothar was still talking. "Let's split up and search the marsh in groups of two. That way, when one is setting a snare, the other can cover him. We don't want anyone getting eaten because their attention is on a knot rather than what's going on around them."

Thierry added, "If you get charged, run in two different directions. Sometimes a predator can't decide who to chase and doesn't chase either one."

Flurry notched an arrow and pointed it at the ground. He said to Robin, "Go back to the house. I'll cover you until you're safely inside."

"I'm coming with you."

"You can't even draw a man-sized bow."

"You don't know that." Robin jutted out his chin.

They argued, but Robin wouldn't give in. Reluctantly, Flurry agreed to let him come along.


	11. The Clay Pit

Flurry's neighbors broke up into groups of two and set off into the Marish to find the wolves that had escaped the skirmish at the sheep shelter.

Some of them carried lanterns, but the moon was full, and the moonlight was so bright, it cast shadows of tree branches in the snow.

"I don't think we need a lantern. We know this land. We were just hunting coneys here a few days ago."

Flurry and Robin pushed through the dried reads into the marsh. The mud was frozen, and it felt achingly cold under his bare feet. He was glad he had a sheepskin coat to keep off the cold.

"Let's head toward that fallen tree with the big root ball. It's a distinctive landmark and we won't get lost if we keep it in sight," said Flurry.

"Just don't fall into the pit where someone was digging clay. Remember how we found that the other day?" said Robin

"I remember. I was trying to think up a way to trick the wolf into falling into it. I'm good at tricks, right?"

Just beyond the fallen tree with the enormous root ball, two tree trunks from grew from one base, forming a tight notch.

"This would be an excellent place to set a snare," said Flurry.

Flurry looped a length of rope to form the largest snare he'd ever made. He thought about how to bait it with a lump of meat from his poor sheep.

"See, it's just like making a sneer for a coney, except the loop is bigger. And stronger, being that it's made of rope instead of twine. And of course, it's baited differently. But I think The only real difference is that we have to anchor the far end to a tree trunk, something strong enough that the wolf can't pull it loose." Robin looked doubtful.

A low growl made Flurry look up, right into the Old wolf's muzzle. They'd been so absorbed in figuring out how to set the snare, they hadn't noticed the animal approach. Flurry tossed a hunk of meat beyond the wolf, then ran in the opposite direction dragging Robin with him.

While the wolf was absorbed with eating, Flurry climbed a tree that was little more than a sapling. He notched an arrow, took aim, and loosed it. It stuck in an oak behind the wolf, vibrating like a plucked string.

From the next slender tree over, Robin said, "Da, I love you, but you're a terrible shot. Give me the bow."

Flurry knew he was right. Reluctantly, he handed over the man -sized bow. "Can you even draw this?"

Robin notched an arrow, but the creature had finished its meal and disappeared into the underbrush.

"Well, that was the last of our bait. Since you're so good at tricks, how would you get a wolf to put his head into a snare so we could shoot it?"

Flurry thought about it. A wolf is a predator. Predators like to stalk things. The children had made a cat toy this morning, and for a short time, it had turned their sleepy old hearth cat into a mighty hunter.

"What we need is a wolf toy." Flurry took off his coat and turned it inside out, exposing the woolly side, he used some of their snare rope to wrap around it and make a long leash.

"I'll dangle it at the height of a sheep, and maybe bob it a little to make it look alive, and I'll baaaa like a sheep. When the wolf pounces on it, you shoot it."

Robin looked doubtful. "A wolf is not a cat. And let's find some better trees. I'm afraid this limb will break at exactly the wrong moment."

They dropped to the ground and looked for a better tree, although in this part of the marsh, there wasn't much to choose from.

They were still on the ground when the silvery form of the old wolf slipped through the reeds. He moved slowly, as if he were stalking them.

"Robin, run!"

They took off in two different directions. Please let my son get away, even if I don't. Flurry ran blindly through the marsh as fast as he could, hoping to draw the wolf away from his child.

Between his own labored breathing and his crashing through the underbrush, Flurry couldn't tell whether the wolf was hot on his heels, or chasing Robin, or wandered off. He looked over his shoulder, then pitched headlong into space. He screamed all the way down, until he had the wind knocked out when he stuck the soft bottom.

Flurry lay on his back, trying to catch his breath and taking in his surroundings. High above his head, the black sides of the pit framed a circle of moonlit sky. He must have fallen into the clay pit they'd seen the other day. It was deeper than he was tall and had vertical sides. He tried, but wasn't able to climb out of it. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. He was out of the wind down here, but with no coat, it was going to be a cold night.

The wolf's muzzle appeared over the upper rim of the pit, silhouetted against the sky. It paced back and forth on the edge of the pit, raining dirt and snow on Flurry's head. It couldn't quite make up its mind to jump into the pit with him, although it clearly wanted to.

Flurry sank back into the furthest corner. He didn't even have his bow anymore. He took the knife from his belt, then unsheathed it and held it in front of him.

"Come and get me. It will be the end of you." His voice shook with anger. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

The wolf lifted its silver-gray head as if it were gloating. But then its body jerked and it collapsed against the edge of the pit, its tongue lolling from its jaws.

From the bottom of the pit, Flurry could see the shaft of an arrow. He couldn't see much of the old wolf other than its head and paw, but from the angle, he felt sure that the arrow was lodged in the wolf's side.

"Da?" Robin's head appeared over the rim of the pit. He lay on his stomach and offered a hand. Flurry could just grasp his fingertips, but it was enough.

"I brought your coat." Robin handed him the balled-up sheepskin.

The old wolf lay on the ground, unmoving. The shaft of an arrow protruded from its chest. Blood from the wound flowed down its silver fur, black in the moonlight.

"That was some remarkable shooting," said Flurry.

Robin beamed.

"Let's go home now," said Flurry.


	12. First Date

It was the first of April, and the green reeds of the marsh were filled with bird calls and the songs of frogs. Robin combed his hair in front of the small silver mirror beside the door.

"Da, I want to go on an adventure with some of the lads. Someone heard something making snuffling noises in the Old Forest and we want to find out what it is."

"You will not…" Flurry stopped himself. The boy had good judgment. He'd proved himself that night against the wolves in the marsh.

"Well, alright, if you're really sure." The effort to trust his son was like pulling stumps from the field.

"You really believed that, didn't you!" Robin. "No, seriously, I want to go over to the Potts farm to ask Daisy if she'll go for a walk with me."

"You're only fourteen. You're too young to go walking with a girl. "

"Fifteen. I turned fifteen last week."

Flurry watched him go. He whistled, and there was a spring in his step. Where the lane met the road, he stopped to pick a bunch of wildflowers, then rounded a bend and disappearing from sight.


End file.
